


What's Left Behind

by SherlockianDinosaur



Series: The Secret Life of Greg Lestrade [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Divorce, Drunk Driving, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Sad, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianDinosaur/pseuds/SherlockianDinosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the personal life of one Greg Lestrade. Detective Inspector. Ex-Husband. Father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a response to a lot of one-dimensional portrayals and analyses of Lestrade's ex-wife. I wanted to give him a story and I stumbled into this.
> 
> There will probably be more pieces of it eventually, but for now, enjoy!

_“Shithole, this place, don’t you think?” Greg asked, leaning his forearms against the pristine white-clothed table only to shift so his cufflinks didn’t press into his wrist. He forced his hands to relax, palms down so Christine wouldn’t see how sweaty they were._

_The woman pulled a smirk, eyes drifting from her boyfriend to the betuxed waiter leaning in to refill their wine glasses with the last of a bottle that had probably cost as much as the dress she was wearing. “Barely choked down the meal,” she deadpanned once the waiter was out of earshot. “The bloody chandelier's got a bulb out, too.”_

_Greg followed her gaze to the elegant crystal chandelier at his four o’clock. “Not surprised.”_

_She hummed._

_When Greg looked back he found her eyes fixed on him, bright and warm and entirely expecting. He felt the ring box in his pocket and resisted the urge to reach down and touch it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he dismissed her silent question. “I wouldn’t do it in a place this piss poor.”_

_“No?”_

_“Nah.”_

_Christine started to laugh but hesitated when Greg’s straight face didn’t break. “Wh-”_

_“I mean, what do you expect me to do?” He started, pushing away from the table and finally giving in to what he’d been withholding all night. He narrated his own actions as he did them. “Get up in the middle of the place, get down on one knee, pull out a ring?”_

_A Grin split Christine’s face. One hand pushed anxiously through her hair. “Greg-”_

_“Christine Wei, would you marry me?”_

 

 

“I don’t know if he’s right,” Sally admitted, from where she leaned against her boss’s file cabinet in his office. She tucked her thumbs into the pockets of her trousers and crossed her legs at the ankle. “What I do know is that if he’s wrong Thomas Miller is going to die.”

“And if Sherlock’s right and we don’t listen, then he’s going to die anyway!” Greg let his hands fall heavily against his thighs, leaning back in his chair as he looked to Sally. All he got in return was a look that said she wouldn’t make the decision for him. He heaved a sigh, glanced over to the case file sitting open on his desk. “It’s _Sherlock_. He’s _always_ right.”

“So?”

There was a pause before he huffed another heavy breath. “Get a team together, and listen to whatever he’s got to say. Leave Anderson here.”

“You’re the boss,” she gave as she pushed upright and made for the door.

Greg wasn’t exactly keen on the unabashed disapproval he could hear in her tone, but he wasn’t certain enough of himself to argue it. Besides, she kept him in line. He couldn’t afford to threaten her into blind submission like the rest of his sergeants. Not that he probably could anyway.

He allowed himself only a moment before turning his chair back towards his desk to thumb through the file again. Sherlock spearheading a case meant more paperwork than he could probably finish the next day, he figured he might as well get a head start. Greg ran his hands over the papers spread across his desk in search of a pen that could have been lost underneath before giving up and leaning over to pull open his desk drawer. As always, his eyes stopped on the picture tucked within.

 

 

_“Stop it!” Christine laughed, pushing Greg away with one hand while the other covered her chocolate-smeared mouth. “ Put that bloody thing away I’ve g- Greg!”_

_A grin broke Greg’s face in turn, boyish and lop-sided, camera poised in one hand, just out of her reach.  “Whoops!”_

_“It wasn’t even aimed at my face,” she mocked, though she wasn’t sure if it was true._

_Glancing down at her tanned, lean body, covered only by her bikini, Greg half shrugged. “Maybe I wasn’t aiming for your face.”_

_Christine rolled her eyes, elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Get me a napkin, you sod.”_

_Greg rolled over and dug through their bag, shaking sand from a short stack of napkins before handing them to his wife. He propped himself up on his elbow, watching as she wiped the chocolate from her face._

_“Good?” She asked, looking up to him when she thought she’d wiped herself clean._

_“Perfect." Accepting the used napkins and shoving them back into the bag, Greg picked up the camera again. “Let’s get someone to do our picture, then, and we'll go grab a couple of drinks.”_

_The drop in energy was almost palpable. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”_

_Greg softened. He edged closer and caught her hand as she started to get to her feet.. “Chris, you okay?”_

_“Ah… Yeah.” She remained still, looking out across the beach, her hand still in Greg’s. Slowly she started to take her seat again, sitting facing her husband with her eyes on their joint hands. “Just... Okay, you know how we’re not- Alright, so I’m not supposed to be able to be- Well, to get…I mean, you know.”_

_Slowly Greg came to the realisation. “Oh my God.”_

_“Sorry, I know, I’m sorry. I told you it wouldn’t be a problem because they doctor’s told me it wouldn’t be, but yesterday I-”_

_“We’re having a baby?” He squeezed her hand and it drew her eyes up to the slow smile spreading across his features._

_Christine nodded._

_“Is that- I mean would you want to?” Greg asked suddenly as his mind began to turn the situation over. “Because if you don’t then we can-”_

_“No, I do. I do, I want it.” She caught his other hand in hers and pulled herself closer. “Do you?”_

_It wasn’t a difficult question to answer. Greg nodded before his mind could even give him the words. “Yeah. Shit. Yeah, let’s have a baby.”_

_The laugh that came out of Christine’s mouth was flooded with excitement and relief. “Okay.”_

_“Okay.” Again he squeezed her hands, let out a laugh of his own. The grin couldn’t have been dragged from his face even if there was a gun to his head. “Okay, oh my God.”_

_“Yeah... Christ, yeah, I know.”_

_“Wow…”_

_Christine laughed again, pushed her hair behind her ears. “I know.”_

_“God. So, yeah. I guess that’s a ‘no’ on the drinks.”_

_“For about seven more months.”_

_“Then let’s go ask wannabe Ringo Starr over there to get our picture and we run to the bar for some Cokes.”_

_She nodded as he pulled her up to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “So you think we can do it?”_

_“I don’t know.” The answer was honest, at least. He pulled his face back from where it was pressed into her salt-sprayed hair. “I think we can try.”_

_“I love you, Greg,” she muttered just before his lips met hers._

_“And I love you, Christine. I love you so much.”_

 

 

Greg doubted they’d ever taken a better picture together. They’re smiles were huge and genuine, their holds on one another firm and comforting and eager and wannabe Ringo Starr either had an incredible eye for framing photographs or they got incredibly lucky. The view in the background looked professionally set and Christine’s slender curves and easy, earnest smile only emphasised it’s beauty

He stole a pen and pushed the drawer shut. The picture remained intact so he could remember how he felt the first time he’d ever known about Olivia, not how perfect he thought his ex-wife looked in a swimsuit. It was almost ten years before, anyway, Greg reminded himself. In that time he’d gone completely gray and picked up a stone. Surely she wasn’t the same in a bikini any more.

Not ten minutes later Greg was bent over a report file when his phone vibrated against his desk. He expected _Sally Donovan_ or _Sherlock Holmes_ or if he was lucky _John Watson_ to show up on the screen when he tipped the phone towards him.

Instead he got _Christine Wei_.

 

 

 _“Didn’t think you’d_ _be  one to get worked up like that,” Christine said quietly as she shut the door to Olivia’s room, baby monitor in hand._

_Greg sat stiff on the sofa, dark eyes locked on Christine as she padded towards him. “Me neither,” he admitted._

_“It’s okay.”_

_“What is?”_

_Christine pulled him against her steady body as she sat beside him. “That you were afraid for her. I was too.”_

_“The panic wasn’t probably helpful.”_

_“No,” Christine gave, “but it happens. That’s why there are two of us.”_

_Greg nodded, looped his arms around her middle. “How likely is it, you think, that we can never let her bleed that much again?” He was only half kidding._

_“Zero unless we plan to cut out her ovaries before she hits puberty.”_

_Greg snorted._

_“Greg, things happen,” she muttered. Her fingers pushed through his dark hair where it was greying at the temple. “It wasn’t your fault. Children hurt themselves, babies hurt themselves. This wasn’t even that bad, just some blood.”_

_“Yeah, sure.” The curse of being a homicide investigator of course, was that all the blood he saw meant somebody had died. He was trained to expect the worst. Apparently when the worst included burying his not-quite-two-year-old because he hadn’t been careful enough, it sent him into something of a panic. Still, he dismissed her reassurances without much consideration. ”I know.”_

_“I’m serious. If she was hurt and it was your fault we’d be having a very different conversation.”_

_Greg shifted in Christine’s hold to look up at her. “I  know.”_

_“So forgive yourself. It’s okay.”_

_It took him a few seconds to be able to agree. “Okay.”_

_“And I love you.”_

_He held her just a bit tighter. “I love you, too.”_

 

 

“Christine?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I- God… You need to come, I’m so so sorry.”

Her voice was weak, breaking with tears. Greg hadn’t so much as heard of her crying since they’d officially closed off on the divorce more than two years prior. Hell, they’d barely spoken at all about anything other than organising his weekends with Olivia. “Christine, where are you? Are you okay?” He was already on his feet, pulling his coat around his shoulders.

“I’m at St. Thomas’ Hospital.”

“Oh God…”

“It’s Liv, sh-” She cut off. Greg could hear her swearing to herself on the other end. “God, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Chris, what happened? Is she okay”

“It’s not. It’s not, she- I don’t know.”

 

 

_“Liv, I’ve got to talk to Mummy, okay?” Greg lifted his brows, his daughter on his hip, leaning sleepily into his shoulder. “So how about you go and pick out your pyjamas and- Is Teddy sleeping with you tonight?”_

_“Mickey,” she corrected._

_“Right, okay. Go get Mickey settled and tucked and I’ll be in in a few minutes to brush your teeth and do stories. Alright?”_

_Olivia nodded but made no move to push herself from his side, still slumping bonelessly against her father until he put her down and watched her disappear into her bedroom._

_“Looks like she had one hell of a Daddy/Daughter Day,” Christine said, closing her book on her thumb where she sat curled up on the couch._

_“Yep.” He didn’t bother hiding his bitterness. His words were drenched with sarcasm. “And your ‘Day of Rest’?”_

_The woman didn’t answer right away, but eventually gave a short nod. “Yeah, it was good, I feel great.”_

_“Bet you do,” he muttered as he kicked off his shoes._

_“Excuse me?”_

_“What, you’re offended?” Greg scoffed as he turned again to face her. “Well fucking excuse me.”_

_“Greg, what the hell has gotten into you?”_

_“Ran into Sherlock today,” he started. His anger was starting to fizzle into fear. Swallowing, he kept his eyes trained on her. It hurt how in love he was. “He worked it out, this whole thing you have.”_

_“What thing?” She set her book aside and edged forward to the edge of her seat. “Greg-”_

_“No, come on. Why do you have to lie to me? You’re seeing someone. You’re going on dates maybe, he says, but you’re fucking him. Everyone knows you’re fucking him, apparently, but me, so stop lying to me.”_

_“Greg, I’m sorry.”_

_“So tell me.”_

_She paused, her eyes left Greg’s face, flicked to the door of their daughter’s bedroom, down to her own guilty hands. “Okay, fine.” She leaned back, dropped her hands to her thighs. “Yeah, I’m shagging him. He takes me to dinner and we… we go back to his.”_

_Greg stood defeated in the centre of the living room in the flat they shared. He nodded._

_“Greg, I didn’t want to hurt you, I was just so- I mean you’re never around. Last month you cancelled but I went out to get those drinks since we had the sitter anyway and I was really cross, then Ben was flirting with me and- God, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”_

_Lestrade didn’t think it was fair that she was the one who’d gotten to start crying. “Are you? Are you fucking sorry?”_

_“I never wanted to hurt you, Greg, I-”_

_“You what?” He interrupted. “You love me?”_

_Christine nodded. “I do.”_

_“No, think about it. Because I really love you. I care about you and about this family and about keeping us together.”_

_She was quiet, not quite meeting Greg’s eyes. “I love you.”_

_With a heavy breath, Greg rubbed his hands over his face. “Fine. Okay. Fine, then phone him. Tell him you can’t see him anymore, I’ll try to take fewer cases and be home more.”_

_“Are you sure y-”_

_“I’m sure that I’m really angry and I don’t want to talk about this right now. Just end it with him. I’ll put Olivia to bed and we’ll figure it out later; we’re not done with this.”_

_Christine nodded as she moved for her phone, eyes on him as she listened anxiously to the rings._ I love you _, she mouthed. It was apologetic and hopeful and frightened without even making a sound._

_Greg shook his head, pushed a hand through his hair.  “ I love you too, Chris.”_

 

 

He stayed on the phone with her as he climbed into his car, hightailing it towards St. Thomas’ Hospital as he coaxed the story from his crumbling ex-wife.

“I didn’t have any idea, Greg. I didn’t- I mean how could I know, It’s been fine before and I’m- Christ, I’m sorry. But who the fuck does he think he is?”

“Who?”

“Alec!” The answer came as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “What kind of stupid fuck- I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s your fiance?”

“Not any fucking more!” Her voice was rising to almost unintelligible squeakiness between her frustration and her tears.

“Take a breath, Chris. What happened?” He could hear her struggling to do as instructed, her lungs clearly not cooperating as she tried to pull them full of air.

“I asked him to pick her up from dance.”

“Okay, and then?” Greg pushed the gas as the signal in front of him turned yellow to red.

“Well, he went.” Christine sniffed, choked out something that Greg couldn’t understand before finding her voice again. “Oh-seven-fucking-eight, Greg. That was how much goddamn alcohol he had in him.”

“What?!”

“I didn’t know,” she said immediately. “I swear to God, I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

“I know, Chris, it’s not your fault,” Greg gave. He wiped sweating hands on his trousers one at  time before replacing them on the wheel. “So he hit something?”

“Got hit.” Whatever composure she’d found dissolved then and there. “Got bloody hit, sideswiped, her d-... her, ah… her door was caved in.”

“Oh my God.”

“Greg…”

“I know, I know. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

 

 

_“God, I missed you,” he muttered as her warm body settled in next to him. He lit a cigarette and took a drag as their breathing began to level._

_“Sure you didn’t just miss the sex?” She asked._

_“What? No-”_

_“Kidding, Greg,” Christine smirked. “I missed you too.”_

_His arm settled around her and for  a time they were quiet. Greg could feel his heartbeating against Christine’s palm._

_“Olivia’s glad we’re going to be living together again. It’s been hard on her.”_

_She wasn’t the only one, Greg thought. “Yeah, it’ll be good for her.”_

_“Yeah..”_

_“What time’s this party thing over?” Greg asked after a time, glancing at the clock on the nightstand as he stubbed out his cigarette._

_Christine hummed, skin turning to gooseflesh as he dragged his fingers gently up and down her back beneath the sheet.  “Six.” She shifted slightly, pressing herself closer to Greg, one hand on his chest and her head resting against his shoulder. “You getting her or am I?”_

_“I’ll get up to go in a minute,” he answered, letting the last of the smoke leave his lungs as he spoke._

_Christine was quiet a moment, her eyes tracing the unshaven line of his jaw. “Weren’t you quitting?”_

_“I did quit.”_

_“Doesn’t count if you start up again.”_

_Greg didn’t answer straightaway. He knew she was right, technically and God knows he’d be cross to find out he’d branded the habit into Olivia. “I should, I guess.”_

_“Try the patches again, I hear they work wonders if you stick with them.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_Christine nodded, tracing absent patterns into his chest with her finger._

_“I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”_

_A smile pulled onto her face and she propped herself up to press a kiss to his lips. And another. “Good.”_

_“Right,” he muttered. Fingers carded through her hair; slid over her skin, held the sides of her face. “I should get going.”_

_The woman nodded, let her fingers slide through smooth, peppering hair. “Thanks.”_

_Greg nodded as he began to pull himself upright. He opted for another final kiss before starting to actually pull himself together to go.  “Love you, I’ll see you later.”_

_“Yeah, love you too.”_

 

 

Greg smoked so fast the cigarette was out before he even pulled into the hospital’s car park. He chewed at mints instead, the cinnamon sort almost strong enough to burn a person’s tongue on the way down. He pulled another from the tin while he parked and crunched immediately through it. There were fewer options for distraction once he was out of the car, standing under the shadow of the building where his daughter lay in some unknown condition guarded by his frantic, teary-eyed ex-wife.

The front desk quickly directed him to the waiting room where his eyes fell instantly on the back of Christine’s head. The tan plaid scarf wrapped around her neck was one she’d gotten when they’d gone up to Aberdeen together. It was odd, he thought, that she wouldn’t face the entrance and wait for him, but the double doors across from her, he realised, were probably the passage to Olivia.

“Hey,” he metered. His hand dropped lightly on her shoulder as he stepped around the row of chairs.

“Greg!” Christine startled. He could see the hesitation in her before she got to her feet and fell into his open arms. “Oh my God, Greg.”

His arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders, one holding her head closely tucked into his chest so he could drop his own head down to rest on hers. Christine held tightly to his waist and he could feel the once familiar press of her palms against his back even through the layers of coats. “I know, Chris. It’ll be okay.”

She shook her head against him. Her words were muffled against his chest but he could still hear the threatening sobs.  “No it’s not. She’s not okay, sh-” her grip tightened and his did in turn.

They held each other in silence until Greg pulled away, just enough to nod at the chairs beside them. “What have they told you?” He wove his fingers in with hers as he took a seat and she quickly followed suit, dropping into the chair beside him.

“She’s in surgery,” she managed with a deep breath, wiping the back of her free hand under her eyes. It came down streaked with tears and smudges of black eyeliner. “They came by a few minutes ago and told me they’re trying, ah... trying to stop some internal bleeding and, she’s got something. I don’t know, something with her lung.” She sniffed, her breath hitched.

Greg stopped asking questions. He found his eyes fixed on the door opposite, on the little windows that showed too little of the hallway within. His silence apparently drew Christine’s attention because he caught her looking up at him in his periphery and glanced over to meet her dark, earnest eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“He’s such a bastard, Greg.”

“I’m sorry this is how you had to find that out,” Greg answered. It was the only way he could really truthfully give his condolences about her failed engagement. He wasn’t sorry she’d loved someone who betrayed her trust, but he cared that there was collateral damage. He would have even if it hadn’t been his daughter.

She nodded, turned her eyes to their clasped hands. Or perhaps just to her ringless finger where it was tucked between two of Greg’s.

 

 

_“No! How many times did you expect this to be okay?” Greg shouted without meaning to, looking up at her from his spot on the floor. He threw balled up wrapping paper at the bin as hard as he could but it fluttered irritatingly short. “The bloke at the pub and then the German ponce and now the fucking PE teacher? And Christ, these are just the ones I know about, how many others were there that I didn’t even bloody know about? How long has this been going on? Were you already fucking someone else when you got pregnant? Is she even mine or have I been caring for your bastard child without even knowing it for six years?”_

_“Greg!”_

_“Do not give me that,” he warned. Another ball of Christmas paper from that morning bounced off the lip of the bin when he threw it. “You are not the victim tonight, okay?”_

_“Neither is our daughter.”_

_“Ours, then? Well thank fucking God you didn’t start picking up affairs until after you’d had our kid.”_

_Christine sat defenseless on the sofa, shoulders dropped and brow creased. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”_

_Greg was quiet at first, breaking down the box that had held one of Christine’s gifts from himself and tossing it to the side. Finally he turned his eyes up to her. “So did you see him tonight?”_

_She nodded. “Yeah.”_

_“And that’s why you told me it was okay for me to go to John’s, you were keen on seeing him for Christmas.” Greg rolled his eyes when she didn’t answer, doe eyes watching him, more frightened than apologetic from what he could tell. “What did he get you?”_

_“Greg…”_

_“No, no. Tell me. Tell me what he got you. You know what? Go get it.”_

_Christine shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyes flicking to Olivia’s bedroom door. “Please be quiet, Greg. I’m not doing that.”_

_"How does Olivia like him?”_

_“Just stop, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll phone him and-”_

_“No! Not okay, Christine, how is that okay? Yes, you should be sorry but that doesn’t mean this is okay!” He belatedly considered his daughter’s presence and pushed his hands over his face, taking a breath in some attempt to calm himself as the realisation began to dawn. “I can’t do this.”_

_She blinked. Her mouth moved like maybe she might say something but it took a few tries for anything to come out. “Do you mean…”_

_He folded a piece of snowflake-spotted tissue paper and set it aside with the others before letting his shoulders drop, his elbows hit his knees. “I don’t know.” He watched Christine but she said nothing. “I love you. God help me, I still fucking love you.”_

_“And I love you too, Greg,” she said quickly, pressing the words in to prove her point, to save herself.  “So we can fix this.”_

_“I don’t believe that anymore,” he admitted. “You don’t love me. You might think you do, but you can’t because you don’t care, Chris. You don’t give a shit about me and I can’t put myself through this anymore.”_

 

 

“You want to know the best fucking part about this?” Christine asked after a long silence. Their hands were still clasped in her lap and she leaned against him, resting her head on the solid strength of his shoulder.

Greg snorted, expression not wavering from its stony misery. “You mean there’s a cherry on top?”

“Alec? He walked out of here before I even phoned you. A sling and a bloody neck brace, that’s it.”

“Good thing he left then,  because he’d have a lot more than that if I’d have caught sight of him.”

Christine shook her head against his shoulder. “No he wouldn’t. I know you Greg, you wouldn’t have hit him.”

Greg's thumb rubbed along the outside of hers.“Could have done,” he muttered, but he knew she was right. Despite his training and despite whatever anger was curled up in his gut, violence wasn’t something he'd ever felt justified in initiating.

“Well, I’d have appreciated it, God knows that.”

“I’ll make sure the charges against him get filed as soon as possible,” he said. It was all he could do in retrospect. At the very least the endangerment charges and prison time might keep another family from entrusting him with their child.

Christine hummed thanks and it fell quiet between them again. The only other person in the room was a young man who’d probably only just escaped the title of teenager. The headphones in his ears were up loud enough for Greg to hear the beat when the room grew silent. The rhythm was driving him mad. Greg was grateful for Christine’s voice when she spoke again.

“Greg?”

“Yeah.”

“They told me they were hoping her head injury was just a concussion.”

“They don’t know?”

“They can’t tell if there’s damage until she’s conscious.”

“Oh.”

Christine swallowed. “Yeah.”

“She’s not been awake yet?”

Her head shook against his shoulder. “I’m scared,”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, me too.”

 

 

 _“So, Liv_ _,” Greg started. His hands clasped hers where they met beneath his chin as he made his way through the car park._

_“So, Daddy,” she said, grinning down at his grey head before he had a chance to go on._

_He tipped his head up to look at her, pursing his lips in mock disapproval before moving back to his question. “Which animal was your favourite today?”_

_“Geoffrey.”_

_Greg’s brow creased a moment. “Which one’s he?”_

_“The penguin with the yellow on him.” She pulled one of her hands free to pluck a leaf from Greg’s hair. “It’s called a, um, emperor penguin and an emperor is like a queen. So he’s my favourite because he’s like the king and he has, um, he was swimming and I like to swim and so I think we’d be good friends.”_

_“You fancy being friends with a king?” Greg asked, finally spotting his car at the end of the next row over._

_“Yeah, because then I can be a princess. Or a knight.”_

_“Right, that makes sense.”_

_"He didn’t have a penis.”_

_"Who? You mean Geoffrey?”_

_"Yeah.” Liv let the leaf go and watched it flutter to the floor.  “Why?”_

_Greg made a note to ask Christine exactly what she’d told Olivia on the subject. “Because Geoffrey’s a bird and they work differently than people."_

_“Oh.”_

_“How do you know his name is Geoffrey?”_

_Olivia was quiet a moment. “He told me.”_

_“Oh yeah?”_

_“Mhmm.”_

_“Wow. I’m gonna lift you off, are you ready?” he asked, shifting his grip on his seven-year-old “One, two, three.” He grunted slightly at her weight as he lifted her over his head and into his backseat. He wouldn’t be able to do that with her for much longer, but he’d let his muscles suffer if it meant he got to milk it with her a few extra months._

_He buckled her into her seat and let the backpack fall from his shoulders to drop it onto the seat beside her so she could dig through it if she wanted on the drive. Pushing her door shut, Greg moved around the car and climbed in._

_"Do we get to go to Mummy’s now?"_

_"Yep," he gave as he pulled out of the space and started towards the exit. “She’ll be excited to hear about everything you saw today, I think.”_

_“Mhmm, she likes giraffes," Olivia gave, but she clearly wasn’t taking the conversational bait. “Daddy?”_

_“Yeah?"_

_"Can you come tomorrow, too?”_

_"Ah... No, I can't really."_

_"Why?"_

_Something twisted in Greg’s stomach. “Because you’re at Mummy’s tomorrow and I’ve got work and you have school and it makes sense this way.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Greg tried to approach the hesitation and uncertainty in her tone. He could hear her kicking her feet against the passenger’s seat in front of her. “I wish I could see you tomorrow.”_

_“You do?”_

_He swallowed, re-gripped the wheel. “Yeah, of course.”_

_“Me too.” Olivia touched her finger to the window so it traced the guard rail outside._

_“I’ll see you really soon though. We’ll get the whole weekend next week.” He pulled to a stop at an intersection. When no answer came he glanced back to look at her. “I love you, Olivia, you know that, right?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“I love you too, Daddy.”_

 

 

Greg cried. He cried openly and earnestly. There were tears over his cheeks, down his neck, wetting his collar.

Cardiac arrest brought on by tension pneumothorax. A fractured rib had punctured her lung on impact and fifty-two minutes later her heart stopped because of a mechanical malfunction in her chest tube. There was too much air in her chest cavity,  the doctor told them. Her heart couldn’t pump under the pressure. By the time they realised the problem there was nothing they could do.

 

 

_“So… That bloke you’ve been going around with — Alex? — you said you’re moving in with him?” Greg asked. He was beginning to overheat with his coat and scarf but refused to strip his layers._

_“Hmm?” Christine glanced up from where she was seated on the floor in front of the coffee table. “Oh, yeah. Alec. I’m trying to get everything to his by the end of next week.”_

_“Getting serious, then.” It was half forced conversation and half veiled curiosity._

_“Yep.”_

_Greg waited a moment for more but it was clear none was coming. If she was content to sit in silence, so be it.  He stood for perhaps the last time in his once-home, eyes flitting around the things that had been labelled as ‘hers’ once they could no longer be ‘theirs’._

_“Mum?”_

_Christine instantly set down her pen and looked up to Olivia as she finally came in from her bedroom with her backpack. “Yeah, hon.”_

_“Can I have a cat?”_

_“Like a pet?”_

_“Claire has a cat.”_

_“Does she?” Christine asked. She turned to better face Olivia, brows raised in question._

_“Yeah. He’s black and white and he likes to sit on the bookshelf.”_

_“That sounds fun, but we’ll have to talk about it,” Christine gave. Greg could tell that was a ‘no’ and he suspected Olivia did too._

_“Dad?” She pulled her arms out of the straps of her backpack as Greg reached down to take it from her._

_“Maybe,” he answered before she could ask. His was genuine. Dating wasn’t going well, maybe a pet would do him better. “Ready to go?”_

_“Yeah,” she said, turning to let her mother drag her into a tight hug._

_“I love you, Liv, I’ll see you Monday, Okay?”_

_“Yep! Love you too"_

 

 

Yes, it was quick and relatively painless. No, they couldn’t see her. Yes, they would be contacted when the mortuary was ready with her in the next couple days.

“Thank you,” Greg muttered, dropping the pen back on the clipboard and handing it up to the nurse. She said something he didn’t quite catch. Condolences, he guessed. He dropped his elbows to his knees and his face to his hands, palms pressing into his eyes until lights danced in front of them. Christine’s weight fell against his side again. He felt her arms wrapping around his forearm and let her pull one hand down so her fingers could intertwine again with his. Greg’s own breathing came slow and stuttering and he could feel her heaving broken lungfuls of air beside him.

The doctors were wrong, Greg decided. It wasn’t painless. Death couldn’t ever be painless so long as someone lived to mourn it.

“I don’t want to go home,” Christine confessed.

Greg lifted his head and caught her reddened eyes, grieving and afraid. Alec, he realised, the man who’d sat behind the wheel of a car and opened the door to Olivia’s death, would still be in her home. “Come stay with me.”

“Can I?”

He nodded.

 

 

“ _Did you know I- Dad?”_

_“I’m listening, Liv,” he said, looking up just a moment as he sliced through another potato. “Keep stirring, remember.”_

_“Yeah.” She returned some focus to the faded red pot in front of her, one hand stirring with a wooden spoon, the other tightened around the back of chair she was stood on to reach properly. “Did you know I’m the next best at the Maths Minute in my year right after Emily Samson?”_

_“Wow, really? That’s brilliant.”_

_Olivia nodded, pulling a mischievous smile. “Mummy says I could beat you.”_

_“Yeah?” Greg caught her eye just a moment and couldn’t help but laugh at her grin. “Well, Mummy wasn’t ever exactly top of her class in maths either.”_

_“Alec’s good at maths.”_

_“I’m not surprised, he probably took a lot of maths at uni.”_

_“They’re getting married.”_

_Greg stopped. “What?”_

_Eyes refusing to look up from the pot, Olivia nodded._

_He swallowed, took a long look at his daughter. “Aren’t you excited?” It was difficult for Greg to muster the tone but she shook her head so instantly he didn’t think it would take anyway. “Weddings are fun, Liv. You’ll get to dress up, there’ll be dancing.”_

_“I don’t want it.”_

_Greg put down his knife and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Olivia,” he started, stepping in closer to get her attention. “Look at me, Liv, is everything okay? Is there a reason you don’t like Alec?”_

_“No,” she said, still refusing to lift her gaze._

_“He hasn’t hurt you? Or made you uncomfortable?”_

_“No.”_

_He rubbed slow circles into her back. The tears were going to come, Greg could see that even if Olivia thought she could stop them. “What is it? You can tell me.”_

_“Where do you go?”_

_It took Greg a second of watching her crumbling expression to understand. “Oh, God, Liv. I’m still right here,” he gave, turning her towards him and smooth hands down her shoulders to hold gently onto her arms. Her cheeks were already streaked with tear-trails. “That’s never going to change, even if you’ve got a stepdad. Even if you’ve got four stepdads. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Her face twisted, her breath hitched. For a moment it looked like she might say something but she simply pressed herself into her father, hands gripping at the front of his shirt._

_“Everything’s gonna be fine, Liv,” he muttered, wrapping arms around Olivia’s small frame to hold her closer. Greg pressed a kiss into her hair. “I’ll always be here for you, okay? I love you so much. More than anything.”_

_Olivia nodded and mumbled something into his chest that must have been ‘_ I love you. _’_

 

 

Greg nearly asked what street the accident had happened on. He wanted to know what the last thing Olivia had ever seen was. He wanted to go there, to see it, to pretend that was even remotely close to being there for her. But he didn’t. He kept quiet the whole of the car ride, pulled safely into a parking spot half a block from his flat and stepped out alive, sans fractured ribs and punctured lung.

Survivors guilt. He was the Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard, he knew the psychology of death. That didn’t make him any less affected by it.

“You can have my room tonight, I’ll kip on the couch,” he said as he pulled out his keys. It was barely six but he felt like it needed saying. Olivia’s room was strictly out of the question for both of them.

Christine nodded, watching him turn the key in the lock.

“I’ve leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry but… but, ah…” When Greg opened the door he quickly realised a number of other reasons Christine hadn’t wanted to go back to hers. He swallowed. Olivia’s boots sat by the door; her favourite mug was still on the coffee table from that morning; in front of it, the blanket she’d wrapped herself up in was still on a heap on the floor where she’d been sitting. “But I’m gonna have a drink,” he managed.

Coat thrown over a kitchen chair, shoes still on, he pulled a glass from the rack and dug into the back of a cupboard for a bottle of scotch.

“Greg, don’t start with that.”

“I’m not the one that bloody killed her, Chris, I can have a drink.” The words stopped him cold as they fell from his mouth. It was the first time he’d said it. His eyes met Christine’s. “W-... She’s dead, Chris.” A breath of desperate laughter pulled up from his aching chest. He pushed a hand through his hair, dropped his shoulders, supported himself against his counter.

“Yeah… She’s dead.”

 

 

_“Dad, you’re missing it!”_

_“Okay, okay!” Hurrying his trek from the kitchen to the sitting room, Greg set Olivia’s favourite mug on the coffee table in front of her, electing to take the sofa rather than follow her example and sit on the floor. “What did I mess, then?”_

_“This boy, Alan, he was getting beat up and he went to this, like, shoe factory? And then he got a man in trouble and then he found a game and he got his friend to play with him but then he rolled the dice and he got sucked into it!”_

_“The dice?”_

_“The game, Dad. Now it’s the future.”_

_“Okay,” he nodded, coffee in hand as he settled into the sofa._

 

 

“I’m fucking exhausted.” Greg swallowed back the last of his second drink and glanced at the clock. Half nine was Olivia’s bedtime; maybe it was good enough for him, too.

Christine hummed, looking down at the last couple swallows of whiskey left in her own glass. “Me too.”

Her head dropped against him and Greg tightened his arm around her for just a moment. He took a deep breath and tipped his chin down to look at her. “I’m turning in.”

She picked up her gaze and met his. Their faces were impossibly close. “Yeah,” she breathed. A slight shift and she set her hand against his chest and leaned up to press her lips against his cheek then his mouth.

At first Greg pulled her in tighter, changing his hold on her so he could keep her against him, but his mind soon caught up with him. A hum of protest escaped. “Christine.” He was almost reluctant to pull his mouth away and immediately missed the contact when she leaned back, drawing her hands back in towards her own body.

“Sorry… Sorry, I know. You don’t- Sorry.”

Greg shook his head. “It’s fine, I get it. Me too.”

She rubbed at her naked ring finger with her opposite hand. “I’ll head to bed, then.”

“I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah… Yeah. Night.”

“Night.”

 

 

_‘Any last words?’ The hunter on screen asked._

_The die tumbled down through the broken house._

_Greg checked his watch; if the last scene didn’t wrap up soon Olivia would wind up late to dance again._

_Robin Williams eyed the board. The die kept falling, clattering against the wooden floorboards far below. It spun. It landed._

_‘Jumanji.’_

_The game wrapped up in a backwards stampede and the world reset, gave them a second chance. Clearly it was set in a world more forgiving than the one they lived._

_“Jumanji,” Olivia repeated before looking up to her father with a lopsided smile._

_Greg couldn’t help matching it._

_“I wish it were real.”_

_“Maybe it is,” he said, making it intentionally difficult for her to see if he was joking or not. “You ready to go?”_

_“I need my backpack.”_

_“Alright, go grab it, quick.” He got to his feet, bringing his coffee mug into the kitchen. “You bringing your wellies or leaving them?”_

_“It’s not supposed to rain,” she called back from her room._

_That was an answer in some sense, he supposed. Coffee mug left on the counter for later, he picked up the boots and dropped them by the door. His phone buzzed as he pulled on his coat and a glance at it brought a sigh of relief. Sherlock had an answer for them. It meant he’d have to head into the Yard, but maybe they could save a life._

_Olivia appeared beside him and tugged on her coat. “Ready, Dad?”_

_“Yeah,” he gave, offering to take her bag as they stepped out the door. “Let’s get going.”_

 

 

The morning sun streaked across his face not long after dawn, but he lay there for hours without even getting up to piss. _Jumanji_ was still in the DVD player, Greg realised. Her cup would eventually have to be brought back into the kitchen and washed. God only knew what he’d do with her boots and the clothes and books and toys left in her room. He shut his eyes and turned over to face the back of the couch.

Eventually he heard Christine open his bedroom door and walk across the old floorboards. “Greg?”

He half hummeed, half grunted in answer.

“I phoned my sister,” she started.

Greg turned over to look at her, even forced himself to sit up enough to support himself on his elbows.

“I think, I, ah… I’m gonna go stay with her for a while. Until…” She made a vague gesture with one hand. “I don’t know, just for a while.”

He pulled himself up so he was sitting properly now, slowly working through her words. “Yeah, okay. D’you need a… ride? Or anything? Coffee?”

Christine shook her head. “No, I called a cab already, I should really go.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“But, ah, you know. Thanks for everything.”

Greg nodded but the silence in the flat was unnerving so he spoke up, too. “Yeah, of course. I don’t think either of us… well, yeah.” It was better he not point out how little they’d wanted to be alone last night, even if it was a not-quite-friend sleeping in the next room.

“I’ll see you around, then.”

That was a lie. They didn’t have any reason to see each other any more. Not once the burial was over. “Yeah, see you.”

She walked past him, past Olivia’s boots, out the door.

He took a breath, let his eyes fall on Olivia’s mug. His jaw tightened, his lungs sank into his shrunken stomach. The handle was cool to the touch as he brought it to his lap. There still was a half-sip of milky tea left in the bottom, the rejected dregs because she refused to drink a single spec of an escaped tea leaf.

Christine was gone, he realise. Well and truly gone. Somehow it didn’t hurt this time. Maybe in the wake of Olivia’s death Christine only seemed trivial, but he liked to hope that maybe he finally stopped loving her.

Greg ran his thumb over the smooth ceramic surface of the mug. He was blinking back tears again.

_I’ll always love you, Olivia._

 


End file.
